


Season's Turn

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, April Showers Challenge, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-06
Updated: 2008-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>...who is a brightly star, shining, shining.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Season's Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nos4a2no9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nos4a2no9/gifts).



> ...who is a brightly star, shining, shining.

The cabin was almost finished, and not a day too soon—Fraser had felt that indefinable shift in the wind patterns, in the taste of the air. No chill as yet, but any day now, any day.

But this afternoon the sun was almost hot; Ray had stripped to his jeans and boots, and the light gleamed on him, was captured and rolled with the flex of his shoulders as he worked the hand drill to set the outside shutter pegs. Fraser had stepped away with the excuse of getting a drink, but found himself ogling Ray over the rim of his cup.

Ray looked back suddenly and caught him at it. A sly smile lifted the corner of his mouth, there and then gone again as he turned away. He put down the drill and lifted his arms in a long slow stretch, his spine bowing.

Fraser's throat went dry, and he had to swallow his water in earnest.

Bending at the waist, Ray dug through the tool chest, his jeans pulling tight against his rear and showcasing the muscle he had put on in recent months while working on their project. He came back up with the mallet and a handful of pegs, and started pounding them in, the sound percussive and flat.

Fraser put down his cup and went back to his side of the door. He'd already completed the shutters there and had been in the process of adjusting the fit when he was so appallingly distracted. The fact Ray was complicit in his distraction was no excuse, really. They had a finite number of hours left to complete the exterior touches. The weather would soon be turning.

And with that turn, these sunlit days, this small hiatus, would be ending.

The two months Ray had spent here with him had been the best of Fraser's life. He'd never known such peace, such a sense of belonging to, and with. He had recorded each precious day as a gift unearned.

For he had stayed north when Ray had gone home.

"We'll have to work on Dief's door," Ray said suddenly. "I think I know how we can make it swing _in_ —put weights on the top on the outside. That way, when it snows it won't get jammed up." He grunted and Fraser heard him drop the mallet. "Shit."

"Sounds like it might work, Ray." Fraser tightened the spacer a few more notches.

Ray began hammering again. "It reminds me of a story I read once about this guy who had a cat that hated the snow, and every year when winter rolled around she'd make him open every door in the house just so she could look out. 'Cause the cat was sure the _next_ door would be the one that would open into summer."

Fraser smiled. What a charming idea—a door into summer.

The _plonk_ of the mallet ceased, and suddenly Ray was by his shoulder.

"You almost finished with that?" His tone was suggestive, and the light musk of his scent drifted between them. Fraser's erection, which had faded somewhat, suddenly reappeared with a vengeance.

He made a show of opening and closing the shutters, which joined cleanly. "It appears I am finished."

"Doneski?"

"Completely."

"Great news. Fantastic." Ray's warm, sweaty palm rested low on Fraser's back, where his T-shirt had crept from the waist of his pants. The tingling brush of Ray's fingers against his skin made Fraser shiver and arch.

"You're so easy," Ray whispered.

"Yes, I—yes."

"Yeah. Easy." Ray tugged on his belt loop, and Fraser stumbled with him down the steps and around the back toward the standing shower.

"I love quittin' time," Ray said, and without ado he pulled Fraser's T-shirt over his head. The air was cool against his damp skin, and Fraser felt his nipples pull up tight. Ray gave a lazy smile and bent to nuzzle him, the stiff stubble of his face rasping against Fraser's chest.

 _Dear God,_ Fraser wanted to say, but as usual, Ray's touch left him quite breathless. He caught Ray's head between his palms and lifted his face into a kiss. Ray tasted of lemonade and sawdust and sweat. He tasted wonderful.

Shoving Ray gently against the wall of the cabin, Fraser pulled on the button fly of his jeans and pushed them down before kneeling to take Ray's boots. When Fraser raised his head, his hair brushed against Ray's erection, causing him to moan. The unintended reaction made Fraser smile, and he did it again, nudging gently against the solid heat until Ray's fingers came down to his head and threaded through his hair, guiding him.

"So soft, Jesus," Ray said. "It's not natural."

"I assure you, I don't use a conditioning rinse—"

"Shut up and suck me."

So Fraser did. It was cooler here in the slant of shade afforded by the corner of the cabin, and Ray's penis was hot and fiercely erect against his lips. He ran his mouth along the side of Ray's shaft, depending his tongue in the long, shallow groove that appeared when Ray was particularly excited. When Fraser reached the base he started up again, tonguing against the thick vein before taking the crown into his mouth.

Ray groaned and shoved hard once before settling back. Fraser remembered the first time he had done this, the night after Ray had flown up to join him on his project. It had been a whole year since he'd last seen Ray, but the time between them had been erased by Ray's broad grin and spontaneous hug at the cabin door. And then Ray had kissed him.

That that moment could have lead to _this_ —to covering Ray with his mouth, to holding him in his hands, to taking his body and offering his own in return—still filled Fraser with both wonder and a fierce pang of dread. For he was conscious of the future, and impending loss.

The seasons always turned.

As had been his habit these past months, Fraser suppressed his foreboding and returned his attention to Ray in his mouth, to Ray's soft whimper when Fraser sucked his crown hard before teasing the small opening at the tip. The acrid flavor was now familiar, beloved. Fraser had never tasted the Pacific Ocean, but he imagined this might be a component of its flavor, for Ray was salty and wild to him.

Fraser bobbed his head in earnest now, trying to give Ray a good rhythm of pleasure, but Ray's fingers tangled and pulled in his hair.

"Come on up here," Ray said.

Reluctantly, Fraser released him and rose to his feet. Ray immediately unbuttoned Fraser's jeans and pushed at them, so Fraser stepped back and kicked off his boots, then struggled out of his pants.

"Heh, crazy Mountie," Ray said, "Since when did you stop wearing underpants?"

Fraser tripped a little on the cuff of his jeans before kicking them off entirely. "Since a certain Chicago cop made it obvious he finds them superfluous."

"That was two months ago. You're a slow learner," Ray said, and stepped forward into Fraser's arms, then moved them both sideways back into the sun and under the showerhead.

Fraser reached behind Ray's back and pulled the chain, releasing some of the water stored in the pump reservoir. It was slightly warm from the sun, but Ray shivered anyway and shook his head, the water springing off the ends of his hair and scattering into the afternoon light.

Reaching behind himself, Ray blindly grabbed the soap sitting in the tin and lathered his hands, smiling at Fraser with his eyes closed as he reached down and took them both into his strong, slippery hands.

As they moved together, mouths touching then parting, again and again, Fraser memorized the taste of warm, clear water and Ray—Ray's sweet tongue and lips, and the fading heat of the sunlight on his naked back as Ray's hands brought him pleasure.

Fraser would remember this, down through the long nights of his narrow life.

He would remember it always.

///

Fraser's bleak awareness followed him as he set about preparing dinner. Their stores were meager; Ray would be sure to complain about the meal. But they hadn't resupplied in far too long. Fraser had been enjoying their solitude, and the sense they were creating a small world unto themselves.

Ray seemed puzzled by his mood and tried to rouse him a few times, but at last retreated in defeat to scribble at Fraser's desk.

Fraser gave himself a firm talking to while he put their food on the table. He would _not_ ruin these last days by anticipating their inevitable end. He would instead live in the moment with Ray and enjoy every hour they had together.

And, after all, Ray might visit again. He'd said he'd worked something out with Welsh with regards to a leave of absence for this trip. Perhaps he could do it again. And though Fraser's own leave was almost at an end, he still had more vacation and sick days he could put to use on visits to Chicago.

"Soup's on," Fraser said lightly. Ray looked up from some diagram he was working on. He stood, and went the long way to his seat in order to squeeze by Fraser with a grin; Fraser resisted grabbing him for a desperate kiss, and settled for brushing a hand along Ray's back as he sat down.

"Jeez, this is terrible," Ray said, plunking his fork back into his bowl of broccoli and rice. "Tastes like Cheese Whiz."

Dief made a whining commentary from beside his already empty bowl, and Fraser frowned at him. "Well, Ray, that might well be because I used Cheese Whiz as a primary ingredient."

The look on Ray's face was pure disgust.

"I'm sorry," Fraser said somewhat defensively. "But we're all out of fresh cheese. Also, fresh milk, fresh vegetables, fresh fruit—"

"I get it, I get it," Ray said. He picked up his fork again and grimaced.

"We'll go into Whitehorse tomorrow, Ray."

"Sounds like a plan."

"The weather will be turning soon, anyway," Fraser said. And then he held his breath.

This time the fork didn't make it to the bowl. Ray set it down on the table and folded his arms. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes, Ray. I suppose you're wondering how I know, but of course when you've lived here as long as I have, the signals of the changing seasons, though subtle, become quite obvious—"

"Yeah, I know about seasons, Fraser. We have four of them where I come from. What does that have to do with the price of Cheese Whiz?"

Ray appeared angry, or at least disgruntled. They'd spent two months working in concert with hardly a rough spot beyond the usual annoyances, and now in spite of his resolution, Fraser seemed to be breaking that spell.

He quickly swiped his eyebrow. "I just meant, what with the weather turning, I expect you will be—well, you won't have to put up with my shoddy cooking for much longer, I suppose."

"Is that what you think?"

 _What else am I to think?_ Fraser scratched his ear.

"You think I can't take the cold? Didn't our little trip show you any different?" And now Ray sounded truly incensed.

"Of course not—I mean, yes, you proved yourself a full equal to the elements on our adventure—" Fraser broke off.

"So? Why're you acting like you want to boot me to the curb?"

"What? No, never! I—I only meant we'll have to complete our project before the weather changes."

Ray cocked his head and then looked away. "There's still lots to do inside. We were gonna build those shelves for the bathroom. And there's the Dief door. And what about your new bed? We haven't even cut the wood, yet."

Perhaps it was a trick of the lamplight, but Ray's eyes appeared to glisten momentarily before he bent his head. He picked up his fork again and stabbed at his dinner.

"Ray..."

Ray was talking about more work. Ray was speaking as if he planned to _stay_.

Ray sighed out a long breath, and Fraser found himself reaching across the table. He was almost surprised when Ray's hand was there to greet his.

"Ray. Your job. Your life..." Fraser said helplessly.

"I've been talking to this guy in Juneau," Ray said, talking fast. "Jay Hawkings. Old friend of Welsh's; settled there when his wife's father got sick. He's a captain on the force, says he definitely has a spot for me—"

Fraser's head spun, and he had to clutch Ray's hand. "Juneau. Ray, Alaska?"

"Yeah, Alaska. So what?"

"But...Chicago. Your pension?"

Ray's eyebrows drew low. "Fuck my fucking pension. You know how much a _house_ costs in Juneau? Peanuts."

"Do you know how much a tube of toothpaste costs?" Fraser countered. "Ray, they have to ship _everything_ in. The economy there is absurd—"

"Yeah, but they've got work for me. They've got plenty of crime, what with the economy being like you said, and it being the capital, and with all those tourists from the cruise ships coming in during the good months. So Jay says. And they have bad guys crossing the border back and forth—we could probably even work together sometimes," Ray said, and his hand closed harder, until the tips of Fraser's fingers started to go numb. "It's so _close_ , Fraser."

"But I—" Fraser snapped his jaw shut on the stupidity about to escape. Yes, Whitehorse was a less remote posting than he'd been hoping for, and he'd been planning to transfer when he could. But he was still patrolling by days. His father's cabin was only three hours south, easily reachable by car and by sled.

And Juneau was about the same distance further. Even in winter he'd be able to be with Ray.

He'd be able to be with Ray.

"Oh, my God," Fraser said, rising abruptly from his seat, his mind racing. The last two months suddenly made a very different kind of sense. The way Ray had helped plan the rebuild, insisting Fraser would need an indoor toilet, a real bedroom, a new bed—

"Now you're getting it." Ray's voice was rough.

"Ray, are you _quite_ sure?" But Fraser was already kneeling at Ray's feet. "Never mind, forget I asked. I don't care if you're certain. I don't— _Ray_ —my _God_."

Ray's grin could have swallowed the sun. "Two months to go commando, so why should I be surprised—"

"Shut up and kiss me."

Ray did. Ray kissed him until Fraser's lips tingled, until his whole body burned, until the lamps had dimmed down, and still they were tangled together on Fraser's too small bed. Fraser couldn't stop babbling between kisses—that he hadn't been able to bear the thought—that he would never let go, now—that Ray was stuck with him—

It was Diefenbaker who stopped them at last. He wanted out. He'd gone from insistently scratching at the door to sticking his wet nose against Fraser's side, and finally pressed his paw on Fraser's nose.

Ray spluttered and then laughed when Fraser growled at the wolf.

"You pay and pay," Fraser said as he rose and stumbled out of bed.

"We gotta make him that door," Ray said, burying his blond head under a pillow.

Yes, they would have to do that. But as for Fraser, he was content.

He'd already found his door into summer.

....................  
2008.02.24

**Author's Note:**

> Ray's cat story is from [_The Door Into Summer_](http://www.amazon.com/Door-into-Summer-Robert-Heinlein/dp/0345413997/) by Robert Anson Heinlein. Apologies to Pete, who is a male cat, not female, but I needed the pronoun help. I highly recommend the book, which is, I think, the greatest time travel novel ever written. Plus, Pete likes to drink ginger ale.
> 
> I would like to proffer my grateful thanks to [](http://zabira.livejournal.com/profile)[**zabira**](http://zabira.livejournal.com/) and [](http://simplystars.livejournal.com/profile)[**simplystars**](http://simplystars.livejournal.com/) for the canon/map help and to [](http://meresy.livejournal.com/profile)[**meresy**](http://meresy.livejournal.com/) for her grandmother's broccoli Cheeze Whiz recipe:
> 
> -Dice and sautee onions and celery  
> -cut broccoli flowers into very small pieces  
> -boil a whole lot of rice -- however much it takes to  
> fill your casserole (she makes a mid-size one . . . maybe  
> 2 litres, ish?)  
> -Mix: One whole (large) jar Cheese Whiz, one can  
> Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, broccoli bits, onions, celery  
> -bake at 350F until edges brown
> 
> Says meresy: "OMG best ever. And great cold for breakfast, too. Don't judge me."


End file.
